Serpentis
by BlackRosePoetry
Summary: "It's a sick sick game we play, the specter and the halfa and there's really nothing better than knowing that when you go down you go down together because you're both too selfish to let the other go." Misery Motivated pairing. References to gore, non-con, stalking, mental issues, language. . . characters are messed up here. Should probably be rated M, but whatever. Enjoy!


_Serpentis_

(The Serpent)

There is no possible way to rationalize it.

You realize this as a too-hot pale body presses up against yours in the night. No breath stirs the fine hairs on your neck, no heavy pulse beneath breasts crushed to your ribcage. There's nothing but the smell of sex and the taste of expensive burgundy mixed with confusion shame _misery_ on your tongue. It burns like acid and your eyes sting with defeat.

This is _wrong_ you think you feel in your core.

But – oh! – what a fucking way to go!

'Cause it's a sick sick game we play, the specter and the halfa and there's really nothing better than knowing that when you go down you go down together because you're both too fucking selfish to let the other go.

It begins on a freezing All Hallow's Eve where the winds howl and the New Moon sneers from its invisible perch cruelly and the demons in your head croon _all alone alone poor pitiful little fucking baby_. So you sail through pure blackness with fury in your heart, revenge in your bones. You're burning blazing roasting in too blue ghost skin even though it's October 31st and the wind blows Arctic. And everything hurts but you don't fucking know WHY –

No that's a lie because you DO know, know the idiot who ruined your _everything_ used to be your goddamn FRIEND. And he didn't fucking care while you slowly died in a hospital bed for five motherfucking _years_. And the fat fucking idiot married the woman you _loved_ love while you screamed cried suffered while the demons in your bones

LAUGHED

in your ears.

All Hallows Eve is the perfect night for exorcism even though fangs and redredevil claws tear away at your marrow.

That's when you feel it, the steam billowing out your nose that means "ghost". And your red red eyes scan empty expanses of too-desolate night sky for something to _hurt_. Something to _destroy_. Only you find something that punches you in the chest stuns you into paralysis. Can't move can't breathe can't _think_ and FUCK this cannot be good.

But you find that caring takes too much effort.

That night you find absolution in teasing and torment, in cruel red-varnished nails and smooth moonpale skin. Heaven comes in a package from Hell so you bathe in blood-soaked ectoplasm and set the demons free, if only for a moment. And those demons tear into her skin, leave their mark with thick fangs and burning red eyes.

Your bones feel so much _lighter_.

You are Lucifer with a crown of red-hot iron blood-blossoms.

And your Lilith's name is Penelope Spectra.

She is everything you should never want but crave, the nightmares that hold you as ink oozes from the cracks in your skull. Penelope is a she-Devil with her teasing tantalizing wicked smirk, her too-pale silk skin, her sharp tongue and high cheekbones, that tiny upturned nose.

But her hair with its too-red (like blood) softness and lithe legs and smooth curves, the minty taste of her lips and the emerald poison envy green eyes behind stylish sunglasses are traits entirely her own.

And there is no Maddie Fenton sweetness anywhere in sight.

She is a cruel woman and you know this. It's in the way she smiles and teases, torments with her psychobabble while feasting on your poor little shattered soul.

The way her too-red nails scrape across your torso and leave trails of fire in their wake.

The way she cackles and giggles and croons in a manner far too crazy for comfort, too much like the

( _murderers monsters DEMONS)_

clawing at you from the inside. And you should be terrified ( _you aren't_ ), should make you rage and push her from your bed ( _hearthead_ ) hard enough to hurt. But it doesn't. Instead you gtoan bury your nose in hair that smells of roses and patchouli. It turns you on and pulls you under and now you're damned even more so than before.

You're drowning in her scent her eyes her voice her everything. She's somehow become your entire

Everything.

And it's so fucking _wrong_ you can't think straight.

Because you know of LOVE and LOVE'S name is _Maddie_ ,with chestnut hair and lavender eyes and the scent of machine oil clinging to a blue jumpsuit. Even though she married Jack _motherfucking_ Fenton. Maybe it's Freudian or Oedipal but, really, what does it matter? All these terms are confusing all that shit and it's all psychobabble bullshit Penny spouts anyway. . .

'Cause maybe lonely little boys who never had Mommy love them search all their lives for a replacement, something to fill that void with smiles and kisses and hugs ( _MaddieMaddieMaddie_ ). Either a replacement

Or an antithesis who _isn't_ gentle or kind or selfless, who would break her little son's heart with their absence, but brutal and selfish and hateful and mocking and _burning_ and –

Save afterward when cold wind blows through manor windows and the moon scowls from above when she drags gentle fingers through your hair and maps your face with the same digits, when she whispers "Sweet dreams, darling" before curling under your chin like a possessive cat.

You realize idly this is the only _real_ relationship you've ever had. And it's so fucked up, just like you with your demons and your fury and your hatred. The red-eyed demons mock you with memories of beautiful lavender eyes and laughter like crystal bells and an indomitable spirit.

(not yours but you want her so close so far SHUT UP!)

Maddie is the kicker, the one thing that keeps you from falling so far into the Ninth Circle and embracing your evil. Maddie, with her lovely smile and beautiful eyes, who would berate your mistakes but never fail to make you smile. Who always greeted you with a hug and left with one too. Maddie the Scientist and Maddie the Fighter and Maddie the Beautiful Princess who has left a permanent scar on your heart without knowing it; who loves so very deeply but can't look past the surface to see your yearning and your agony.

She can't see your demons.

You yearned, right? For Madeline( _MaddieMaddieMaddie_ )?

Did you? Truly? You were ( _are_ ) certainly

Obsessed.

But sometimes there is much too fine a line between love and hatred. Wanting to possess and consume and wanting to destroy and annihilate.

And Penelope Spectra. The demoness, the vampire. She was what you had been dreaming about for years. She looked felt smelled like family like home like

Love.

No! No not LOVE you don't love the demon-ghost-woman you LOVE

Maddie.

And though you love love love Maddie, yes, though you worship the ground Maddie strides over in her rubber hazmat boots, though you know Maddie was ( _is_ ) happy, know Maddie had( _has_ ) a beautiful family and Maddie loved ( _loveloveloves_ ) Jack

You still can't shake the obsession with her.

And you will _never_ escape the addition to Penelope despite your fervent ugly obsessive love.

Because Penelope is vibrant and Penelope is colorful and even though she's crueljeeringmanipulative she is petite and not-so-strong as you and every inch of her is so so soft. It awoke in you a fire, a need to dominate her.

A need to possess this too-perfect too-damaged vampire who isn't Maddie.

And that startles you but you're too far gone to care at this point.

How long has this game been going on anyway? There's a timer among the shattered remnants of your sanity, counting each perfect ( _fucked_ ) second with this beautiful creature and suddenly you realize she's been here for twelve **years**.

Twelve. Goddamn. Years.

Fuck it. You're an addict anyway. A wealthy handsome man with no friends no family only Penny, this cocaine heroine alcohol drug wrapped in a pretty _beautiful_ face, and your bone demons.

Oh it's a sick sad strange game we play, the Masters and the Spectra.

So you continue with your plans for

R

E

V

E

N

G

E

festering like pus in the spaces of your mind, and the charred meat taste left in your mouth feels like _victory_. Penelope, beautiful twisted demented Penny, helps in the only way she knows how. By whispering cruelties and mocking you and crooning "Maddie will never love a MONSTER like you but I do I love you even though you're too damaged. Destroy them break them and we'll rule just like you always wanted and won't the bloodbath be

Fun?!"

Penelope is _so_ evil and Penelope is _too_ hot but she lets you pound her into your goose-feather mattress hard enough to make your bones ache and her ghost-teeth rattle. And Penelope is callous and Penelope is a fully-fledged bitch and she demands and gets what she wants when she wants it and she mocks you while you fuck, leaves claw-marks down your fack that weep blood for days but she can be gentle and every damned inch of her is so very very soft. Her high full breasts are clouds and her hair is sunset and her lips are minty marshmallows that make you melt every. Damn. TIME.

You want to protect her, keep her close and safe and _yours_.

You want to destroy her, pound that pretty perfect face until there's nothing but an ugly green and black smear.

And every night now you welcome her into your bed. And you don't want to admit it but the longer she stays the easier it is to forget Maddie.

And this frightens you, terrifies you to your very bones where the demons lie because Maddie is _safe_ and Maddie is _warm_ not hot and Maddie is

Human.

But that's the thing isn't it? You _aren't_ human. You're a monster a demon Lucifer with a charming smile and tragic blue eyes. And you're burdened by your ghosts ( _PennySkulkerDanieleverylastone_ ) and you HATE everyone for the truths you can't and won't admit.

And the silent voices grow louder in your head with each step closer to your goal and you burn for _Penny_ and your entire being aches when you can't touch her.

And as the plans come together you escape to the ocean of icy sheets in your room even when _she_ isn't there, to catch a scent of her, of the both of you on those so very cold silken bed clothes.

The Masters Plan is coming together _so_ nicely, beautifully, and all your chess pieces are closing in like predators looming over Jack _motherfucking_ Fenton. You're going to hold his still-beating heart in your hands watch the life drain from his eyes.

Victory will taste like mint and charred meat.

And you stalk Penny with your eyes and she sometimes acts trapped.

But mostly she just _oozes_ amusement and at night she calls you an "Obsessive little freak" so you fuck her even harder in punishment. Sometimes you want to fuck her hard enough she'll bleed hard enough she'll break. But she's a ghost. She's a bonfire a ghost. Ghosts do not break, not for you not for anyone.

And Penelope Penny beautiful cruel misery-devouring doll she is will never shatter despite everything you try.

But do you _really_ want to hurt her really want to tear her flesh and break her bones because that's what _monsters_ do. He doesn't want to be a _monster_ be a _demon_ but the new

Lucifer.

But there's hate in your heart festering with ink and piss and Penelope is _so_ beautiful, everything you won't but shouldn't and the one poison you need for survival. She warms you every night like a bonfire, tucks her body close and drives the demons from your bones. She is your exorcist and your tormentor and your savior, cocaine-heroine-alcohol-Vicodin mixed with a heavy chest and _so much loneliness_.

And one night you come home to the big castle with its ice cold emptiness only to find Penelope lounging on your black silk sheets. There's a smirk on that pretty face and a vodka bottle dangling delicate from slender fingers and she looks so damn _smug_ but she's so fucking _delectable_ too and you can't think straight.

There's no way to rationalize this, no way in the Hell you're making.

You are _damaged_ and you are _evil_ and there are _demons_ living in your marrow and dear Christ this is _fucking_ WRONG you can't even –

The feeling of silky superheated flesh beneath your fingers is _right,_ though.

And dear demented little Penny is looking at you, clawing at the steel fingers pinning her to bed and she's so tiny so very delicate and there is actual fear in those poison green curse green eyes.

"V-vlad, baby, what're you doing?"

You pounce press harder and straddle her body, crushing her down and hissing "shut up!" right into that beautiful ( _dead_ ) face.

There is an odd clarity to your insanity so you examine every pore every graceful smooth plane that is Penelope – something you are never usually coherent enough to do.

Usually you're at her teasing mercy as she turns you on and twists your damaged mind and feeds and brings you to the brink. Though it's you fucking her body ( _isn't this necrophilia?_ )

She is the one in control.

She fucking mind rapes you manipulates your emotions.

And you realize this.

But up until this point you didn't care because as your life moves forward, as revenge draws near, you still love her.

And you fucking hate her for it.

Because Penny is a ghost, has been dead for years. But her core _burns_ and her breasts are still firm and her waist is still tiny and there is no trace of decay anywhere on her slim pale smooth body. She is perfection. She is an abomination.

There's fear staring back at you, so much fear.

Delicate fingers reach up to brush away silver locks and her hands tremble.

"Vlad? Baby, what're you doing?"

Green green ectoplasm dribbles from her lip and you _love_ it, it's fucking beautiful. And you realize that if you weren't such a sadistic bastard that this would really screw you up, fuck with your warped little mind but it's so GORGEOUS that, really, who wouldn't stare at that beautiful fucking amazing liquid.

And then you realize how fucking _tiny_ Penelope is underneath you that your bulky frame must be crushing her ectoplasmic body. That should make you get up make you fly far far away where the

Demons

can't hurt anyone anymore, not Penelope not Maddie not Daniel.

Especially not Maddie.

But you can hurt Penny now. She can handle it. She rapes you anyway, it's only fair you return the favor. So you lean forward and crush your lips to precious Penny's with enough force to break a normal _human_ jaw. She squeals, tries to push you away turn intangible anything to break your iron grip. But there's no use struggling little _piyavka_.

She's all yours.

Ectoplasm tastes sweet like molasses or sugar or decay and as Penny writhes underneath you the taste coasts your tongue with poison. It's sickening. It's addictive. You want _more more more_ so you release her lips. She screams, throat exposed, and you lunge scrape your fangs along the fragile skin. More poison. The fucking witch _whimpers_ cries as you fuck her senseless and suck her poison away.

You only stop when the Sun rises and grins its bloody grin in the sky.

And you stand tall as light fills the room, red eyes triumphant and as you fly away. Penelope, bruised and broken and bloody, looks at you with hate looks at you with awe.

She comes back the next day with a strangely terrified wonder in those poison green irises.

Your plans have come to fruition. The world is crumbling under your boot under

Vlad _Masters'_

heel. And Jack _motherfucking_ Fenton is dead blood dribbling down your claws, gushing from the gaping maw of his chest. His heart is clenched in your hand cold and dead.

Maddie calls you _monster_ , looks at you with hate in her pretty violet eyes.

Daniel calls you _demon_ , and the actual demons in your bones laugh and laugh laugh **laugh**.

The true evil living in your bones poisoning your mindsoulcore laughs in triumph. _So good lovely broken little boy very very good_. You laugh along with them, those voices that have dictated every move you've made in the past twenty years, loud and cold, cruel. Penelope tucks in close, fear mixed with awe added to hate in those curse-green verdant eyes. She stays close as the world burns around you.

She doesn't want to get burned.

 _Isn't it ironic that you're the fire-starter? Poor little flower._

"You can't be a real man if you don't fuck me like one, Vladdy. Just fuck me right and the voice'll be

 _quiet_

won't that be great, lonely little freak tired little tyrant, my baby?"

The grin on your face widens because this is the only thing you know now, the only interaction that reaps any physical benefits. And you pull her in closer, revel in her warmth her _unnaturalness_. Dear demented Penny _shudders_ as you bite her lips, taste the sweetness the ectoplasm dribbling over full flesh. The poison. The drug.

The world is burning shattering around you.

What a wonderfully fucked way to spend eternity.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this fic. It came to me in the dead of night while I was doped up on pain meds and it refused to let me be until I put it into words.**

 **But before anyone leaves anything, I need to explain my reasoning. Or as much reasoning as a fic like this has.**

 **Vlad Masters is, by all accounts, a genius. He is a business-savvy individual who dabbles in things such a chemistry, biology, engineering, and physics. He is a manipulative bastard, this cannot be denied. The fact that he has ghost-powers only serves to provide another means for manipulation. Despite this, however, I believe that the accident had to have left some serious, deep mental scars on the man. He spent _years_ dying alone in a hospital, festering in his hatred and terror. In this fic, Vlad's "demons" are the voices his mind created in order to keep him company as he died. Over time, these voices shifted from being companions to being malevolent voices, pushing and prodding and egging the young Masters on his quest for vengeance. **

**The other half of this twisted little mind-fuck is one of my favorite villains of all time, regardless of the fandom.**

 **Penelope Spectra is a calculating, manipulative bitch of a woman and I adore everything about her. To be honest, I think Spectra has a much higher intelligence level than many people give her credit for. Anyone who is able to induce as much misery as she is while maintaining the illusion of benevolence has to be highly intelligent. And not only is Penelope intelligent, but she's calculating and vicious, ruthless in her quest to find that perfect victim that will keep her looking beautiful.**

 **When these two come together, there's bound to be some sort of connection, albeit an unhealthy one.**

 **Vlad needs someone to take out that uncontrollable rage of his on, someone who can take a hit and keep on swinging. Penelope started out wanting Vlad as a new fuck-toy and food source. Then it morphs over time for her. Vlad becomes a fixation. He's a puzzle she can't find the exact answer to, something so damaged and shattered that there is no hope to ever put the pieces back together. She's a mystery, and that annoys her. But he's a _powerful_ mystery, someone who dominates while simultaneously wishing to be dominated. **

**He's a more broken male version of herself.**

 **And, honestly, I think Vlad would have succeeded in killing Jack with Penelope's help, simply because she would keep him from making hot-headed decisions. Only, once he finally got the fat-man out of the way, he'd be too far gone to really want Maddie anymore. He's too dependent on Penelope.**

 **It's a sad fucked-up little world I've created, and I hope someone out there enjoyed it!**

 **Forever and always, BlackRosePoetry**


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